


I Write

by irrationalTinker



Category: inFAMOUS (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:01:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2289542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalTinker/pseuds/irrationalTinker





	1. Chapter 1

They surfaced a while ago, those…things. I’m not really sure where they came from, but I do what the people have started to call them, bio-terrorists. The ravaged the city, and demolished during the war, which we somehow won, and I hear they’re infectious, I don’t know what I’m going to do if one of them gets to me.

Iggy was a shy boy, of nearly fifteen; he always walked around with a notepad, or a laptop to write on, that was his passion. Writing was one of the few things he enjoyed; he had plans to be an author. That was all fine and dandy until three days ago, when a bio-terrorist broke out. The man’s name was Stephen King and no one really knew his power. All they were aware of was that his main thing was making people disappear and bringing out giant monsters to fight his enemies. Anyway, he broke out, wreaked havoc in Iggy’s small town, and somehow, by an odd twist of fate, came across Iggy himself.

He had been walking while writing, a terrible habit, but one he had acquired nonetheless. He was right in the middle of describing the immolation of a couple of thugs by a small boy, who just so happened to know ju-jitsu, when he ran into someone. “sorry,” he said, not even looking up, when a rough arm reached out and grabbed him. “maybe you should learn some manners boy, look at me when you apologize!” fear crossed Iggy’s mind, but didn’t register on his face, he was terrible at making his expressions fit his thoughts, so he just rarely made them, “of course sir, sorry sir.” Suddenly a feeling of helplessness came across him, he lost his breath and fell to the ground, as if the air had been knocked out of him. The hand had released him and the giant man fell to the ground as well. “W-what did you do kid?” Iggy was confused, he hadn’t done anything, it had been this man who just hit him, hadn’t it? He looked around to see if anyone else was near them, that was a negative. Who had hit them? “I didn’t do anything I swear,” he said defending himself from this man he barely knew. He was starting to feel faint for a moment: he almost passed out but managed to keep his eyes open. The man looked at him angrily, obviously not believing him, and then suddenly it all went dark.

It was like he was inside this mans head, had seen everything he had, felt everything he had, it would have been an amazing experience to revel in under different circumstances, because it was what was happening that showed Iggy who this man he had been dealing with was, it was the infamous coduit Stephen King. He had no reason for alarm though. Steve wasn’t the man everyone made him out to be he could see that now. The flashback ended and Iggy was thrown back into reality.

“What the fuck was that?” he mumbled looking at King. Stephen just stared at him in disbelief. “You were inside my head,” he stood up saying, walking towards Iggy. “How did you do it?” Iggy pulled himself backwards till his back was up against a wall. “I-I don’t know I swear! Now calm down! We both know you aren’t going to do anything.” God I hope that worked. The man looked down, then turned on his heel and began to walk away, “No, no hey you can’t leave!” the man just kept walking. Iggy huffed and stayed where he was, he knew if he followed him he’d just give him a reason to kill him. Damn it! Iggy stood up and walked off towards his house, on the way there he passed an ally where it sounded like someone was being mugged, not uncommon for this part of town, but his heart still dropped every time he heard it happen. He pulled out his notebook and starting writing down situations in which the victim fought back and won, as he walked away he could almost say he heard the shouts stop, and start coming back in a different voice.

At home Iggy sat at his desk writing one of his favorite stories, it was about an oppressed teenager who gets super powers and fights back against all of his bullies, he doesn’t become a “super hero” per say, he just fought back. This was the character he idolized, the one he wanted to be. He fell asleep writing, which caused a spot of drool to be on the paper when he awoke. “Ugh” he said grabbing a paper towel to try and save the story.

Because of this he ended up late to his bus stop, making him run to catch it in time. Causing a spurt of laughter the moment he was on board. He scrambled to the back of the bus before anyone could throw anything at him, they’d never actually done it, but he’d seen it happen in movies and assumed anything they’d do to bug him, they would do. It was amazing he’d only been suspended twice, what with all the fights he’d been in, for a writer, he had some strength not comparable to the football players, but better than all of the video game nerds. He also “fought like a little guy” as his father would call it, dodging punches rather than blocking them, putting all of his weight into every hit, he had become somewhat of a fighter, at least he’d like to think so. Just in case, he carries around a spike, it looks and works like a pen, until a certain hidden button was pushed, then a spike protrudes from the body of the pen. Since it’s undetectable from a normal pen, he kept it with him at all time.

When they finally reached hell he got off the bus after everyone, walking into the building and sitting down next to his friends. He didn’t talk, nor did he eat he just rested his head on his backpack and huffed. This was usual for him so no one said anything, the day passed as normal, with him ignoring most of the things his teacher said and writing instead of doing schoolwork. By the end of the day he had a new story partially done. It wasn’t about anything in particular, just teen drama and such. Sometimes he wrote things down so he could figure out what to do from his characters. After the day at hell ended, he was driven back to his house and he sat down at his desk he began to write again. He started off with descriptive pactice.

I lay down on the cool grass, which had grown on the spongy ground. The cool breeze brushed passed me like rude people on a busy sidewalk. The leaves on the trees rustled in the wind, the water in the brook flowing over the swiftly, making the calming noise I had come to enjoy in my time here stuck on this island.  
He almost felt as if he was actually there. He must be really tired today, if he tried hard enough he could almost feel the soft grass underneath him, and was he just crazy or is that running water he heard? He opened his eyes from his almost-nap and found himself in a field surrounded by trees and the wind was blowing and the water was flowing. It was just like in his descriptive practice, but… that’s impossible! Had he fallen asleep, and was now dreaming about it? Yeah, yeah, that made sense; he always did have a vivid imagination. Well since I’m here I might as well enjoy it, he thought. He laid down on the grass and closed his eyes, his journal and notebook clutched in his left hand, his desk had disappeared and he was now here alone, in the confines of his mind. This was the best dream he’d had in a while. It all seemed very… real.

Something was off, he could see everything in perfect detail, feel the grass and the breeze as if he were actually there. He pinched his arm and didn’t wake up. He sat up quickly and looked around, his surroundings were still the same, with the still accuracy as the real world. Is it possible? He looked as his journal in disbelief. No, no way, not possible. he dropped the book and walked a bit away from it. There’s no way writing in that could make something actually happen. He stopped turned around, and looked at the notebook from there. Might as well try. He decided to do the most ridiculous thing possible to test the book. After walking back over to it he sat down and picked it up, opening it to a fresh page and clicking his pen.

I sit writing in my journal when suddenly a sharp pain sprouts in my back, and in a grinding of bone and a tearing of skin, two blood spattered white wings sprout from my back.

Only after writing it down did Iggy realize that was a very, very bad idea. If writing something down in that journal did cause it to become true then he was in for a world of hurt. He waited for a moment and when nothing happened he was both disappointed and relieved. He went back to his journal and began to write the phrase again. Maybe I just need to- suddenly the area around his shoulder blades began to sting, then hurt, until finally it felt as if he was being stabbed by a dull knife from the inside of his body. “Ahh! God I’m so stupid!” he shouted out as he fell to his hands and knees from the pain, silently cursing himself for having the stupid idea to make something happen that would cause him this immense pain. The pain built, as did the tension underneath his skin, the feeling of bones growing rapidly, along with the sound nauseated him, he was nearly sick right there.

Finally the skin on his back ripped open and two white wings jumped out of his back, splatting the blood from the tearing skin across the valley floor. The pain had left him nearly without thought, but with the small amount of consciousness he still had he managed to right something.

The strikingly harsh pain in my back quickly subsided, and the bleeding stopped soon thereafter.

True to what he had written the pain stopped, as did the bleeding. Iggy soon passed out from relief, and slept in his paradise for the next few hours. He woke up bleary eyes, and feeling a lot heavier than usual. He rubbed his eyes and stretched, his wings splayed out and made a whoosh noise. His eyes widened as he looked behind him and saw the blood spattered wings.


	2. Chapter 2

After about a minute of flipping his shit, he finally calmed down. Ok, I have wings now, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He tried moving them, controlling them, but seeing the blood on them made him nauseous. I need to clean these. He wandered down to the riverbank, just slightly off balance from the new addition to his back. He turned around and dropped backwards into the river, having the water run over his wings. Once they were sufficiently clean, he got up and flapped them a bit, drying them off, and also slightly lifting himself into the air. His face lit up as he realized that he could actually fly. He brought his wings up and down quickly, trying to get some air, eventually he was about twelve feet in the air and climbing. Ok, how do I go forward? 

It took him a few moments but Ignatius finally managed to fly efficiently. Swimming around in the air, doing flips and diving, eventually he landed next to his journal. Wondering if he should go home now. Hmmm he picked up his journal and chewed on the tip of his pen, deciding what to write. 

Alas, it was time for me to return to my home, but I know that when I return to this place my wings will be once again on my back, at this point I am starting to fade away back to my room, along with my journal and pen, my wings only coming with me in spirit.

He started to fade, and his surroundings blurred like a painting that was being erased or a freshly inked page being smeared. He closed his eyes expecting something significant to happen but instead he just appeared back at his desk, standing next to his chair. A confused yet happy expression passed over his face. He checked the time, it was only about a minute after he had left. So being *there* doesn’t pass the time here.

It was now that he began to wonder exactly how this had happened. The thought came to him that maybe he had caught Stephen’s power, that maybe he was a conduit now too, a bio-terrorist. His face fell, he would have to run away, hide, never stay in one place too long… or maybe he was just over-thinking it. No one knew he had this power, not even the one who had given it to him. He could keep this a secret, not tell anyone. He had one more experiment if he was going to keep using this power. He pulled out his laptop and typed up a phrase about him being in the paradise he had created. Nothing happened, it seemed it only worked when it was hand written. That was all he needed to know. He closed his laptop and connected it to the charger, deciding to go to sleep for the night. What weird fucking power.  
The next morning the whole thing seemed like a dream, until he looked at his journal and saw the words he had written. They seemed to permeate supernatural. He picked up his journal and stuffed it in his backpack. This could be useful. A light smile showed on his face as he got ready for school. No one was going to bully him today.

He got to the bus with no trouble that day. Everyone basically ignored him, a shame too, he was hoping for someone to hone his new skills on. As the day passed no one seemed to want anything to do with him, until lunchtime. While he was sitting with his friends Iggy noticed a particularly brawny guy walk past and sneer at him, his face adapted a smile as he pulled out his journal.

As the Neanderthal walked past sneering at me, he lost track of his footing, falling to the ground as if a wrecking ball had crashed into him and he had been the concrete wall. As he fell to the ground he had no time to catch himself, smashing his face against the ground, breaking his nose under his girth.

Iggy dotted the final period on the sentence and looked up to see his masterpiece become reality. The brute fell to the ground smashing his nose into the ground. Laughter bubbled up from Iggy’s mouth and burst out. God that had been hilarious, the look of confusion on his face was priceless! Luckily for him the guy hadn’t noticed his laughter, or else he might have been attacked. But the jocks cheerleader girlfriend came and rushed him to the nurse’s office despite his insistence that he was fine. All of my friends stared at me like I was crazy. It was apparent they all thought I was condemned. 

The school day ended without anyone else trying to pick a fight with him unfortunately. So his powers went unused. Iggy had no clue whether there was a consequence for using his skill or not, so he decided to go easy on it. He was really looking forward to flying around once he got home though. As he was riding back to his house he was really jittery, not being able to sit still. Being able to fly, it was one of nearly everyone’s dreams and he was able to make it a reality, only in his little paradise but that was better than nothing, him flying around in the current day would cause some heads to turn, or even police to become involved, he may be blowing it out of proportion, but better safe than sorry.

Once he finally got to his house he ran passed his mom as she opened the door. “Hey mom,” he said rushing by her, climbing the stairs by threes all the way up to his room. He’d never been so excited for something in his life. Imagine all the things that were made possible with this power! He sat down at his desk pulling out his journal. His face now covered in a huge smile. Why was he so excited. I’m going to add things this time. Ah yes, Iggy planned on adding little creatures or maybe natives to his little island. He looked at the blank paper, seeing all that could sprout from it. He brought his pen tip to the lined paper and began to create.

Once again I feel myself pulled to my other world, to the perfect island where I have wings and can fly about in the air, where little dwarfs rummage around in there mines and the tiny elves flew around the forest tending to the plants and animals, of which there were many different and wonderful kinds, all friendly herbivores, who live in luxury do to the massive amount of greenery. As I fade onto the island the weight of my wings weigh on my back. And a feeling of calm and piece fills the surrounding area.

That should do it. He thought happily, he felt his presence fade from this world, come to think of it he wasn’t even sure if it was another world, he could have just created a new island in the middle of the Pacific, if he had then it would soon be found by other countries, and taken away from him. He would do counter measures if that happens, and destroy that bridge when he got to it.

He finally arrived and was elated when he felt his wings on his back, he flew up about twenty feet in three flaps and soared around, seeing the dwarves hike into their mines was amazing, he flew down to meet them “Hi there,” he said cheerfully, but they just stood there and looked at him for moment then continued working. Perhaps they don’t understand me. He thought and took his pen to his journal once again.

In this mysterious world that wasn’t even fully understood by it’s creator, tongues and languages of all kinds were understood by all, so that piece and communication could be upheld.

Once he was done writing he could hear the grumblings of the three and a half foot dwarves. “What is he? What’s he doing here? Can anyone understand him? Hey Phil! Check this out!” he shifted his weight nervously, “Hey uh, my name’s Iggy.” The dwarf that had been looking at him suddenly acquired a confused expression. 

You do talk then?  
Well yeah, of course I do  
Oh well good, now I can ask ye’ who are you?  
I’m Iggy   
That’s it? Just Iggy?  
No, not just Iggy, but I’m not going to relinquish my full name to a grumpy dwarf whom I don’t know.  
Well I guess that makes sense. I’m Jerith. 

At this point the dwarf stuck out his hand, offering it for a shake. Iggy accepted gracefully.

So uhh, got wings do ye?  
Oh, oh yeah, I gave them to myself.  
And ye did that how?

He said sitting down and shouting to one of his co-workers, “Takin’ a break!” you could hear complaints throughout the group and one yelled back to him. “your shift just started ye lazy knot!” he stayed put on the stump and continued to converse with Iggy.

I uhh, I just wrote it down, and it happened.  
Did ye’ eh? You tryin’ to be funny?  
What? What-no I’m not making a joke of any sort, I’m telling the truth I swear! I thought at least you people would understand, I should have talked to the faeries.

The dwarfs expression changed from confused but jolly, to a dark expression of warning.

You don’t want to be talking of them around here boy, those flighty taproots ain’t one of our friendlies, if you understand.  
You aren’t fond of the faeries? 

At this point Iggy was scared, by creating only two races and not specifying that they were to co-exist he had unwittingly brought to species to war. He rushed to open his notebook to a clean page.

The dwarves and the faeries co-existed perfectly, providing each other with materials necessary for life and luxury.

Nothing changed, it was still the same. His eyes widened as he came to the terrifying revelation. Whatever he wrote, was set in stone. It was law, it wasn’t able to be changed or taken down, what he wrote was permanent, and there was nothing he could do about it. If it contradicted a previous writing, a passage will become invalid. Jerrith had stopped ranting about the dwarves hatred for the faeries and was focusing on what Iggy was doing with a confused look about him.

What’re ye doing there eh?  
Oy! Kid!   
Hm?

He came back to reality, well, not reality, but a subsetting of it in which he was currently residing.

Oh, sorry I uhh, I.. nevermind.  
I asked what you were doing boy.  
Oh well uhh, normally when I write something it happens, but it seems I can’t change something I’ve already written.  
Well I suppose that’s a shame isn’t it? What were ye’ trying to write? Not that I believe you I’m just curious.  
Well I was trying to make to where you all and they faeries could get along well, but I guess since you have your own consciousness and are from my creation I can’t change what you developed.  
Yer creation?  
Yeah  
Am not, I was made by me parents  
Well yeah but I made them, I guess, with my writing.  
I’m not sure if you’re stupid or… well stupid.  
I’m telling the truth I swear.  
So you’re telling me, that you created all of us, with that little writing pad of yours?  
Well yeah.  
… Bullark! Stop trying to pull the coal dust over me eyes! If all them little lies you’ve been telling me are true prove it.  
Fine.

Iggy was under quite a bit of pressure, he didn’t know what to do.it seemed simple enough; just make something happen, but what? After a few moments of intense thinking he finally came to conclusion. Readying his pen over his notebook he clicked it, and began writing.

As we conversed I decided to prove my worth and skill, so as I was writing, a spire made of iron ore shot up from the ground about twelve feet high, shocking anyone who was ale to see it. Jerrith, the little dwarf with whom I was talking, looked from the spire of ore to me, his mouth agape. 

How in the… Was that you?  
Yes, it was. Do you believe me now Jerrith?


End file.
